


Atsumu's Twenty-first October fifth

by slof



Series: One hundred ways to say 'I love you' [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Timeskip, Uhh idk who can tag no one, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:00:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26437585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slof/pseuds/slof
Summary: Inarizaki has called for its alumni, though it included one of the worst days of the year for Atsumu.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Ojiro Aran
Series: One hundred ways to say 'I love you' [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921759
Comments: 9
Kudos: 47





	Atsumu's Twenty-first October fifth

**Author's Note:**

> FOR @smtsukki ON TWITTER I'M SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG RAR

October fifth was the worst.

  
  


Atsumu had dealt with the common mistake of people thinking he was his twin brother his entire life. Every single time, it seemed like the question was always the same when someone had walked up to him.

_“Are you Osamu?”_

Honestly, the twin was tired of it. If anything, he thought that Osamu should be the one getting questions if _he_ was _Atsumu_. Atsumu was the older twin, after all. If someone was going to get consumed in the womb, Osamu would’ve been it.

It was mostly adults who thought about Osamu over Atsumu. He was more mature on the outside (that wasn’t saying he couldn’t or didn’t sometimes act like Atsumu). They went to him first, the more ‘organized’ twin; Atsumu would leave a mess places, Osamu would look after himself. Teachers would give Osamu important letters, students would give Atsumu love letters.

He so hated it.

Atsumu hated being handed things, Atsumu hated sharing things, Atsumu hated everyone who treated him like his brother, Atsumu hated everyone who characterized him as just _‘Osamu’s twin’_ , Atsumu hated everything. He grew up with it even to his years as a young adult.

Atsumu hated birthdays.

Atsumu hated _his_ birthday. It was known that everyone had to share a birthday with _someone_. Being the only person born on a day of the year was quite impossible by now, and Atsumu knew that. Though he hated being _directly_ connected with someone.

So when there was someone that the Miyas grew up with who could tell them apart seemingly better than their own parents could, Atsumu felt a sudden rush of relief wash over him.

Ojiro Aran.

Aran had been by the Miyas longer than Atsumu could remember. He grew up with them through their childhood, through school, through volleyball. Atsumu swore Aran knew the twins better than the twins had known themselves.

He knew that Atsumu’s favorite food was fatty tuna, Osamu loved -- all foods, really; he knew that Atsumu loved volleyball, a lot more than Osamu, and he dedicated his everything to it; he knew that Osamu may have been seen as the quieter twin but that didn’t mean the Atsumu in him couldn’t ever come shining out.

  
  


Though it seemed like Aran took favoriting when it came to the twins, he just took a different turn than others did. Most people liked Osamu more, he was calmer on the outside. People who couldn’t tolerate the outgoing person that Atsumu was just preferred Osamu -- one Sakusa Kiyoomi formerly from Itachiyama Academy was a good example of someone who despised Atsumu.

Aran took notice of the different likes and dislikes of the twins because he knew well enough the two were not the same no matter how much people liked to believe they were, and he knew that one was not better than the other, they were simply better at other things. 

Maybe Osamu wasn’t as good at volleyball as Atsumu, and maybe Atsumu wasn’t as good at cooking as Osamu was, but they covered for each other; Osamu could cook as well as Atsumu could play volleyball, and Atsumu could play volleyball just as well as Osamu could cook.

They were good at each other’s weaknesses. They shared some strong and weak points, they differentiated on some strong and weak points. The twins were two different people, and it seemed like Aran was one of the few people who realized that having known them for so, so long.

He even took notice in Atsumu’s strange hate toward his own birthday -- he took notice _years_ ago. Aran kept note to not celebrate the twins’ birthday around the older one, only meeting with Osamu in secret if he ever had something to give him (a lot of the times, it was simply a box full of foods, each year a different type of food -- this year had been sweets). 

Though there was something about Atsumu’s twenty-first birthday and not celebrating it that Aran could clearly see bothered Atsumu. 

Atsumu wasn’t the type of person to say it did bother him, not after years and years of complaining how much he didn’t like it. He was stubborn and stayed true to his word (he had stayed true to his ' _I’ll pass to that Hinata Shouyou from Karasuno’_ bust from his second-year and actually managed to get on the same team as him on the MSBY Black Jackals and was now officially the shrimp's setter). Regardless of how much he held it to himself, Aran was able to tell.

He picked up on the way Atsumu would huff a little more aggressively than he had previous years when Osamu got sweets handed to him or wrapped gifts, or the way that he’d tell Osamu off a bit more rudely than he’d do so on past birthdays.

Aran decided to do something, for once. He thought it’d be a good idea, maybe Atsumu would appreciate it, and maybe even the gesture would be taken as something more, deep down, Aran could only hope.

* * *

Atsumu sulked down the halls to practice. He had been grumpy all day simply because of _what_ day it was.

_‘Stupid October fifth,’_ he thought to himself grumpily. _‘Stupid, stupid, October fifth.’_ If there was a rock in the hallway, Atsumu would’ve been sure to kick it like a child throwing a tantrum. 

Or maybe he was better than that but no one would never know since he never saw a rock.

Inarizaki high called for its alumni, asking them to stay with them for the week to help train the new generation of volleyball players. The Miya twins accepted, of course, even after having learned it was involved the week of their birthday, though Atsumu couldn’t promise that he wouldn’t be in a bad mood when the day came. The coaches knew that having experienced it in Atsumu’s high school years, they told Osamu who warned them that they would deal with it when the time came.

  
  


So Atsumu walked into the locker room with his bag strap sat on his shoulder, a tight hold on the bag which was so strained that it made it useless to even have his shoulder hold it for him. With that grip alone, he could carry the bag, he basically held it over his shoulder.

He set the bag down on one of the benches then dropped himself next to it, a deep, heavy sigh escaping his lips as he let his back hunch over. He stared at the floor, even while the rest of the team began to pile into the locker room. They changed and talked, ignoring the negative waves that radiated from the older twin.

The students were more than curious about what was wrong with their alumni until Osamu and Aran had pulled them all aside to explain the emo mode of Miya Atsumu. It seemed they understood, and they understood a lot better than the two alumni had expected them too. They planned to make him the star of practice tomorrow, shower him with compliments, ask him _‘hey, Atsumu-senpai! Can you set for me?’_. It made the two proud that these were students of the school they graduated from.

Meanwhile, the alumni had been through this _every year_ of their high school, especially Aran and Osamu who experienced the extra years from when they were in middle school. They all remembered when they all had first witnessed it.

Rintarou had said nothing at the time, actually, it seemed like he was amused at the thought of it, and when the time had come those years ago, he recorded Atsumu’s breakdown. He still had the video saved on his phone, and no matter how much Atsumu begged him to, he wouldn’t delete it.

Hitoshi hadn’t said anything when he first witnessed it, nor had he said anything the second time, and the third time he was silent as well. He was the one who had informed the underclassmen during their years of high school.

Yuuto stayed quiet about it too, he wasn’t really one of many words. 

Osamu, obviously, knew more than just to stay quiet. He knew to keep his distance from his twin, even hold back on some insults or comments he normally threw around. Osamu loved messing with and teasing Atsumu, but he knew that if he was in the situation where he was mistaken for Atsumu every time to the point where it ruined a yearly event, he’d be pretty upset too.

Aran seemed to be the only person who could take a step near Atsumu while he practically seemed like he was on the edge of a fight.

  
  


After everyone had left the locker room, the rest of the team left to get warmed up for practice even without the former setter, Atsumu was left alone sitting on the bench, staring down at his hands. He played with his fingers, dragging his thumbnail through the creases of the nails on his other hand. 

There was a hand on his head, and Atsumu looked up. Aran stood there, a soft smile on his face as his hand was planted on top of the mess that was Miya Atsumu’s bleached hair. It had slowly begun to take a shifting style to be pushed up and swept to the side a little, Aran’s hand moved it slightly causing it to look a little like it had the previous year.

“Come on, Captain. Ya got practice to lead,” Aran said. 

“‘M not the captain anymore,” Atsumu muttered, and Aran stared down at him, a look that told him, _‘Once a captain, always a captain’_ or some cheesy, Aran-like, motivational quote. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered while standing up. “‘M comin’.”

  
  


The practice was normal, the coaches knew by now not to bring up the twin’s birthday at all and pretend as if it was a normal day. They carried on doing the normal drills of serving, receiving, and spiking. The water breaks were normal, filled with refreshments and light chatter, and the same teasing and jokes were present -- aside from any that would normally be directed toward Atsumu. People like Rintarou and Osamu had to bite their tongues on those.

Atsumu was in a good mood during the practice. His sets seemed better than usual, but maybe that was the focus he put on volleyball to stop himself from thinking of the day. His attitude toward the students was cheery, they all distracted him from the problem knocking on the back of his skull.

Though by the time it was _that_ time change out and head back to the locker rooms, Atsumu was back in his depressed mood. He was sulking to the room to change, plopping himself back down on the bench next to his bag. A towel sat on his shoulders to pick up the sweat on his neck, and he reached up, grabbing it and wiping his forehead with it. He sighed as his teammates around him talked and changed out.

“Hey, ‘Tsumu.” Atsumu looked up, his eyes meeting with the ones that matched his. It was like looking into a funhouse mirror, but by now, Atsumu was used to it, the backward look of himself standing right in front of him. “Rin ‘n I are gonna head home.”

“Home or yer home?” Atsumu asked. “‘Cause ya know ma wanted us to drop by.”

“His family got me somethin’, wanted me to come over before we headed home.”

“What? Permission to marry her son?”

“Yer funny,” Osamu said as he grabbed the towel off Atsumu’s shoulder and whipped him lightly in the face with it. “Shuddup.” Atsumu rolled his eyes and repositioned the towel properly on his shoulders. “Head home, actually. No fuckin’ ‘round.”

“Yer tellin’ me what to do now?” Atsumu scoffed.

“Lookin’ out fer ya, idiot,” Osamu cleared up. “Ma wants ya home.”

_‘No, she wants_ you _home.’_

Atsumu sighed and nodded. “Fine. Go ‘way.”

“See ya.”

  
  


Atsumu was left alone in the locker room, still left in the clothes from practice that were dried from sweat. The towel rested on his shoulders again, a disappointed sounding sigh slipped his lips for what seemed like the tenth time that minute. There was a small breeze that came from the air conditioning unit that gave him chills and made the hairs on his legs stand up.

After probably ten minutes of sitting there staring at the ground, Atsumu gave one last sigh and kicked off his shoes. His moves were sluggish as he peeled off his socks, and he stared at the lines left on his skin. They were a little itchy, bumpy even, jagged with lines from the pattern on the tight clothing.

As Atsumu was peeling the shirt off his head, the gross feeling of the cold shirt on his back that was still laced with a layer of dried sweat, the locker room door opened and grabbed his attention. He finished pulling it off and let his hands sit in his lap as he looked to the man standing at the door. 

“Aran,” Atsumu said, and his eyes lowered to the small, white box in his hands. “What’re ya still doin’ here?”

“Yer askin’ me that?” Aran stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He chuckled as he took another step, and hearing the soft laugh come from Aran, Atsumu felt his heart skip a beat. “I know the rules, trust me, I do,” Aran began to say as he took a seat next to Atsumu on the bench, on the other side that the twin’s bag sat. “Though considerin’ this is ya twenty-first and I know who ya are, I can tell yer bothered by not celebratin’ it.”

Atsumu stayed silent, and he bit his lip. He looked back down at the shirt in his lap, thumb rubbing back and forth on the fabric. 

“No matter how much ya say ya hate yer birthday.” Aran moved the box to Atsumu’s lap, holding it there until Atsumu looked.

The twin did, and he stared down at the small box being held above his lap. Atsumu dropped the shirt, slowly grabbing the box as if he was being handed an explosive. The shirt fell to the floor as Aran took his hand away and let Atsumu grab ahold of the mystery container, then he leaned over on his knees as he kept his eyes on the young adult.

“What’s this?”

“A present, idiot. Ya open it.”

“I get that,” Atsumu mumbled. “But we said--”

“‘N I said I know yer upset deep down ‘bout not celebrating yer twenty-first.” Aran nodded his head at the box. “Now open it.”

Atsumu sighed and sat up straight. He stared down at the box, looking at it like it was a gem in a museum, an untouchable as if there was a sign that read _‘do not touch!’_ on it. 

Over the years, Atsumu had never gotten a gift handed to him. Ever since he was eleven he refused presents, and he did it so much to the point where not even his parents -- not even Osamu had gotten him a present. They all ignored him purposely, just like the twin wanted, and Osamu was given gifts in private -- he felt kind of bad about accepting presents if Atsumu wasn’t being handed anything, but Atsumu always told him that it was okay _(“‘Samu, seriously, shut it. Ya can have our birthday, I’ll take Christmas or somethin’”)._

So when the present sat in his lap, Atsumu couldn’t help but stare at first.

Though he also knew that Aran was staring at him and waiting, so he took a deep breath and grabbed the flaps on the box. He lifted them up, opening the box slowly, a part of him excited deep down to see what it was. 

Inside the box was a small cake, golden frosting, with black icing that read _‘Happy birthday, Atsumu’_ in a beautiful font that Atsumu could recognize as Aran’s handwriting. He could recognize it anywhere, it was always so smooth, and Atsumu always read it in Aran’s voice. In each corner of the box sat a single, mini liquor that you would find in the nice hotel rooms. 

“I know ya’ve been able to drink but,” Aran shrugged, “dunno. America rules, ya can drink now.”

“Funny,” Atsumu said with a light scoff.

“Ya’ve always wanted to go.”

Atsumu gave a soft nod, tapping the cap of the tiny glass with his finger, surprised that Aran had even remembered when Atsumu had been obsessed with traveling to America to play volleyball back in his second year of _junior high_ _._

He stared down at the small cake, and he let the box sit in his lap, his fingers shaking as they lightly held onto the sides. One of his hands subconsciously reached up, palmed over his mouth.

“Are ya cryin’?”

“No,” Atsumu quickly said as he turned his head to the side. “Shuddup.”

“Yer cryin’.”

“Aran, ‘m gonna need ya to shuddup,” he quietly mumbled, shamefully wiping away a small tear that threatened at the corner of his eye. He turned back to look at the cake. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Yer smilin’.”

“I can’t smile?” Aran asked with a grin.

“No, ya can’t.” 

“Alright, fine,” Aran said with a slight chuckle as he stood up. He did a small stretch, Atsumu pinched himself for staring at the skin that exposed when his shirt lifted slightly. “That’s why I was still here,” he explained. “Wanted to give ya that. Could tell ya were a little more upset than the last years.”

“Ya paid attention that much?” Atsumu whispered as he stared back down at the cake.

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

Atsumu stood up, quickly setting down the box in placement of him before he ran to Aran at the door, wrapping his arms around the slightly taller man. He hugged him from behind, clasping his hands together at the other’s chest, his face buried into his back shoulder blades.

Aran smelled of lavender which made Atsumu’s heart rate calm down, reminding the twin of a comfort. The comfort of the times before when he’d go over to Aran’s and sit on the floor of his bedroom, back leaned against the side of his bed as he held a textbook in his hands. Of the times the two would work in silence and it would just be them, knees touching, soft breathing, pencils writing; the twin felt his face heat up at the thought of those nights, the AC blasting through the room with a quiet hum. When he’d let his head fall on Aran’s shoulder, and the other wouldn’t complain, wouldn’t nudge him to move, wouldn’t tell him to work. 

Atsumu remembered when he woke up one of those study nights, his head fallen in Aran’s lap as the other continued studying without a care in the world. He had sat up, pretending to be half-awake as he stood up and made his way to the bathroom before staring at himself in the mirror and scratching himself in the face from a burning rush of embarrassment.

Because Atsumu had a clear crush on the one who had been with him for years, knowing and picking up everything about him. How could Atsumu not?

So now when that same exact guy that claimed he knew Atsumu better than most just showed him and gave him the utter affection that he had been wanting ever since he stopped getting them when he was eleven, Atsumu couldn’t and _wouldn’t_ stop the rush of emotions. 

  
  


“I hate ya,” Atsumu said into his back, and Aran laughed.

“‘M sure ya do.” Aran poked his arm with his finger. “Can ya loosen yer grip?”

“I suffocatin’ ya?” 

“No, but--just let go a bit.” 

Atsumu did as he asked, slightly loosening his hold on the other. Aran turned around, and he wrapped his arms back around Atsumu, a sudden movement that Atsumu had not been expecting. His breath hitched a bit, he felt like something flicked the cage of his ribs and cracked a bone.

The twin stood up straight, backing away from Aran slightly so he could look at him, hands palmed on the other’s strong, solid chest, fingertips curling a bit into the fabric. He had never been this close to Aran, close enough to really observe his eye color. At first, he had thought them to be a dark grey, but now that he was at this distance, there was a tint of olive green to it.

“So ya say ya know me, right?” Atsumu asked under his breath and Aran nodded. “Then--” Atsumu bit his lip because how the hell was he supposed to ask this? He was shaking already, and it wasn’t like this was the first time he had thought about this. Study nights had not filled with innocent thoughts. “Please,” Atsumu whispered desperately. 

And Aran chuckled before grabbing Atsumu’s cheek, tilting his head a little before he leaned in to press his lips against Atsumu’s. 

Just as Atsumu had thought they’d be, his lips were soft. Call Atsumu delusional, he felt like it was the missing puzzle piece to his lips. They fit perfectly, moving against his as if they were meant to. Atsumu’s fingertips had stopped dancing in the fabric of Aran’s t-shirt, now frozen and filled with lead, numb and unable to move.

Atsumu finally got the strength in him to be able to move, lips still to Aran’s as he wrapped his arms around his neck to get just _that_ much closer.

The kiss only lasted a little bit more before he pulled away for that very well-needed breath of air, hands clasped together at the back of Aran’s neck.

“Thanks,” Atsumu mumbled, breaking the silence after that kiss that seemed as if it lasted a week but in reality, it was a mere few seconds.

“Fer the kiss or fer the cake?”

“Both?” Atsumu asked with a raised eyebrow.

Aran laughed, and Atsumu felt the crack in his ribs heal in that instant.

“Couldja come over?” Atsumu asked. 

“Aren’t ya goin’ to yer parents?”

“Yah,” Atsumu shrugged. “But come with. ‘Samu’s bringin’ Suna.”

“They’re datin’ 'n at this point, basically married."

Atsumu shrugged again.

“Alright,” Aran said with a smile. “Get changed though. Ya smell awful.” Atsumu pulled away, rolling his eyes. He leaned over and picked up the shirt from the ground, tossing it in the shared laundry bin of the locker room that they’d probably wash in the morning. 

“Thanks fer that,” Atsumu said with a laugh. “Also we’re eatin’ this whole cake on the walk home. ‘Samu ain’t gettin’ shit.”

Aran chuckled and nodded. “Got it. Hurry up.”

“‘M comin’, ‘m comin’,” Atsumu repeated quickly as he slipped on a new shirt. He’d have to take a quick shower when he got home or something. 

He couldn’t help but grin as his bag balanced on his left shoulder, his hand holding onto the closed box with his dessert inside. Aran’s hand found his free one, and Atsumu’s felt a spark run up his spine. He shuddered his shoulders in the least noticeable way possible, trying to hide the fact that it had an effect on him.

Aran’s hand was soft, cupped in Atsumu’s hand, and it felt different than the normal high fives they gave each other. The longer touch really was something different, a more satisfying, warm feeling. 

  
  


“Happy birthday,” Aran said as they walked to the Miya home. Atsumu looked over at him, the side profile of one Aran Ojiro was one to never forget -- had he _always_ been this attractive? (If you were asking Atsumu, the answer was _‘yes’_ ).

“Mhm,” Atsumu hummed and looked forward again, a stretch in his face in the form of a smile. 

  
  
Maybe October fifth wasn’t _that_ bad.

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter @mattsuhana


End file.
